CHAPTER 7
They had three black vans waiting in the parking lot behind the university lab. I got into the backseat of the middle one. Molly Carrolton hoisted herself into the driver’s side and buckled in. Ellen Brazile came out of the building last, wearing dark sunglasses and talking on her cell phone. She finished her call outside the car, then folded her long frame into the seat beside Molly. I looked behind me at a solid wall of aluminum cases.
“Bringing a few toys, huh?”
“I’ll be honest, Mr. Kelly. The last thing I wanted was you tagging along.” Brazile stared a hole through the front windshield as she spoke.
“Maybe we’ll grow on each other.”
“I doubt it.” She took a sip from an aluminum bottle that had CLEAN printed in block letters on its side. I took a look at the plastic bottle of Evian they’d given me upstairs and wondered. Carrolton accelerated to the back bumper of the van, riding point.
“What do you know about anthrax?” This time Brazile favored me with a glance. She might have even blinked.
“I know what weaponized anthrax is. And I know if it’s already been dispersed into the subway there’s little you, or anyone else, can do to prevent a lot of people from dying.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Molly and I are scientists. We don’t care about politics. We don’t care about whatever power struggles might be going on in Washington.”
“You work for the government. Your careers depend on making someone in DC happy.”
“Our work is funded by a private consortium called CDA Labs. CDA contracts with the Department of Defense to provide cutting-edge tools in the ongoing war against chemical and biological weapons. Yes, we have ties to the government. But we don’t work for them. As such, we’re not subject to a lot of the regulations and restrictions placed on their agencies.”
“And that allows you to do what?”
“That allows us to kick some ass.” That was our driver, flashing hard eyes in the mirror and shaking out a shock of red curl. “We spend a lot of money and take a lot of chances that taxpayers might not like. But we do it because we have to, and we get results.”
Brazile snapped open a case she had by her feet and took out a small black-and-yellow device about a foot long by six inches wide.
“Know what this is?”
“Looks like a controller for an Xbox.”
“It’s called a Ceeker. It’s highly classified. In fact, there are only a handful of them available in the world.”
“I’m listening.”
“Up until recently, identifying a pathogen required the collection of samples that were ferried back to the lab for analysis. The Ceeker uses wavelengths of light and a special algorithm to identify the presence of anthrax within minutes. It’s handheld, operates on batteries, and can be used by any first responder.”
“How come I’ve never heard of it?”
“No one hears much about the war on bioweapons,” Brazile said. “Too scary.”
“How accurate is it?”
“Ninety-nine percent. At least in the lab.”
“How about in real life?”
We rolled up to the Blue Line L stop at Clinton.
“This will be the first time it’s ever been used in the field,” Brazile said.
“Great. But my point is still a valid one. If the Ceeker tells you this stuff is hot, then what? People still die.”
Molly Carrolton slipped the van into park and turned. “That’s where the cases in the back come in.”
I looked behind me. “What’s in there?”
Brazile popped open her door. “Ever heard of carbon nanotubes, Mr. Kelly?”
“No.”
“All right, then. You have a lot to learn. Let’s get suited up.”
CHAPTER 8
The upper level of the Clinton L station looked entirely normal, save for the fact it was entirely empty. We walked down the stairs and onto the platform, crowded with gear and divided by a series of opaque plastic curtains. Brazile disappeared through the first set without a word. I moved to follow, but Carrolton held up a hand.
“Got to put our suits on first.” Carrolton popped the seal on an aluminum case and pulled out what looked like a space suit. “This is an NBC suit.”
“Nuclear, biological, and chemical?”
“Very good. It’s state of the art and will protect you against any airborne pathogens up to. 011 microns in size.”
“Means nothing to me.”
“Just put it on. It has its own respirator, and a comm system so we can talk to each other.”
Carrolton began to climb into her suit. I did the same.
“How far are we from where the pathogen was detected?” I said.
“Half a mile.”
I stopped putting on my suit. “Call me crazy, but shouldn’t we have put these on before we got down here?”
Carrolton pulled out a helmet with a tinted visor and handed it to me.
“The platform and stairwell have already been swept for pathogens. Once we determined them to be clean, we set up what amounts to a negative pressure room along the tracks starting here and extending in both directions.”
“Ever done that before in a subway?”
“We’ve never done any of this before. The restricted area starts just beyond the last set of partitions. The air is scrubbed by a HEPA filtration system, and the environment is constantly monitored for leaks.”
Carrolton slipped on her helmet and then showed me how to put mine on. I found a pocket along the thigh and zipped my gun into it.
“There are two buttons on your wrist,” Carrolton said. Her voice was muffled through the mask. “Push down on the first, and you can talk to me.”
“How’s this?” I said.
Carrolton gave me a thumbs-up. “Perfect. Your audio is set up to talk to me and Ellen only. It’s good up to about a mile, give or take. If I’m standing right beside you, it’s usually easier to just talk through the mask. If you need to speak to the other scientists, let me know, and I’ll put you on their net. Now, hit the other button.”
I pushed down on the second button. Images of scientists in suits collecting samples appeared on the upper quarter of my visor.
“What you’re seeing is a video feed from one of the working areas along the tracks. We can hook you into data feeds as well, but that’s going to be up to Dr. Brazile.”
I pushed the button again, and the video link disappeared.
“Where is Dr. Brazile?” I said.
“Follow me.”
We stepped through three sets of plastic partitions and came to a curved glass divider, set into a metal frame and sealing off the rest of the platform and tunnel. A double-door system allowed access to the area. Inside the first door were two large machines, and a series of hoses connected to two gray bladders. The machines groaned
